All Alone
by WatchYourSteph
Summary: I thought up a new character that I think would be really cool in the show and I basically wrote about who she is and how she finds Rick and his group. Let me know what you think! OC
1. Chapter 1

"You'll never get me!"

Sam pushed a small, plastic car in circles around him, trying to keep me from slamming my miniature cop car into it. I whipped my hand up to my face and pushed my index finger against my lips.

"Shh! You can't yell Sammy! We're not supposed to be noisy!" I whispered to my little brother.

He looked at me, pouting.

"Why do we have to be quiet still?" he whispered. "We've had to be quiet for forever."  
I looked into his large brown eyes and my stomach dropped. He was only six, there was no way he could know what was really occurring. Once again, I would have to lie to him about it.

"Mommy needs her rest, she's still sick."

It wasn't completely a lie. Mom was sick, but who could rest anymore? No, we had to be quiet for something else.

I heard a loud thud from the living room suddenly. Sam spun around and backed away from the door, confused. If he had known what made the sound, he would have been terrified.

"It's nothing Sammy. Mom probably just dropped something. I'm going to go make sure she's alright. You stay here."

I rushed out of his bedroom and closed the door behind me, then tip-toed down the hall until I could peek around the corner at the door. Mom was standing there, her fingers resting on one of the wood planks we had nailed over the door to keep the Things out. Her forehead was pressed against the highest plank, and she stared out the peep-hole, counting the victims. She turned around and looked at me. Dark crescents sat under each eye, fresh tears covered her pale cheeks, and her irises had turned from green to a gloomy grey.

"Oh, I was just about to get you," she sighed, her voice cracking slightly. "There's more out there, about five. Will you please go take care of them?"  
I looked at the fragile figure in front of me, my eyes tearing just a bit.

"Do you think my dad would have done this if he was still here?" I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know the answer.

"I don't know, Honey. I think he would, because if he was here that would mean he actually gave a shit about..." she bowed her head down and began to press on her forehead with her left hand. Tears poured down her cheeks again and I couldn't help but notice the scar on her ring finger.

"I'm having headaches again. Please, just go take care of those people out there. We'll talk more when I feel better."

I nodded to my mother and turned back to the hallway. The door next to Sam's bedroom lead to the old shop my dad had before...

The disgusting smell of decay and death filled my nostrils once I entered the shop. Deer heads, bears, foxes, and wolves lay scattered around the room, untouched for years. I took a Buck knife from the blood-stained table and exited the house into the backyard. The yard had a single tree in the middle with white flowers scattered among the branches. A strong wind snaked its way through the green leaves and carried hundreds of small petals with it. I picked up one of the petals and examined it. It was such a bright white color that it almost seemed to glow. These small flowers were the only things that kept me hoping that one day this would all be over. One day these little flowers wouldn't be the only things still alive. One day we could return to our old, pure selves, instead of the monsters we were all becoming. The wind blew again, stronger that time, and my brown hair flowed over my face, blinding me for a moment. When I was able to see again, the petal was gone.

I started toward the metal gate and prepared myself for the horrors on the other side. My knife was firmly in my hand, and I was ready to kill.

One of these days we would be pure again. But not yet.


	2. Chapter 2

The black bars screeched as I closed the gate behind me, then made a quiet click as it locked into place. The click was quieter than normal, but I hardly noticed. I heard a low growl, and froze for a second. I almost sounded like a Thing was close, but I knew that they weren't smart enough to get through all of the plants, so I continued moving. I stormed through the dead, yellow grass and shoved overgrown shrubs out of my path, my heart rate rising as I pushed forward. This same process happened every time the Things decided to return: we would hear one of them slam into the house, I would be sent out to deal with them, and I would slaughter them, no mercy in the swing of my knife. They were already dead, what was wrong with killing them a second time?

No, it wasn't the fact that they were dead that made it so easy to kill them. When it all started, before anyone knew what was happening to humanity, I saw one of them. It was a blonde-haired boy, only about four years old. He had been one of Sam's friends. When I saw him, he was crouched over someone that was laying down. I had run up to him, worried that the person laying down was injured. When I called the little blonde-haired boy's name, he had turned around, sickening growls escaping him; blood dripping from his mouth, down his chin, and onto the ground; his eyes glazed over with an erie, white fog. His skin was so pale it looked fake, and dirt was scattered around his face, stuck in his hair, and covering his clothes. He attacked me, and he would have killed me, had I not run away.

Those Things were murderous, they were dangerous, and I couldn't allow them to get near my mom and brother. That's why I could kill them without remorse; I was simply doing my job.

I rounded the corner of my house and stepped onto the driveway. Four Things wobbled about the front yard, leaving trails of blood and pieces of their flesh behind them as they moved. They all looked starved and beaten, and it would have been disturbing had they still been human. But they weren't. They were killers and monsters now, and they had to die.

Eight foggy eyes rolled my way, their connected head following after. Each of their steps were heavy, jerking their floppy bodies side to side as the walked. Hands with skin peeling from them reached toward me, and blood oozed from the mouths of the hungry Things like drool. Each Thing looked different, different chunks of hair missing from their fragile scalps, different sections of skin ripped from their starved-looking bodies, different amounts of blood covering their limbs. They hobbled toward me, slow but determined. Once they reached within four feet of me, I took my dad's old knife and stabbed it through their heads, sending blood splatters in the air around me.

I stepped over the bodies that lay on the ground, small, bleeding gashes in each of their skulls. I climbed the steps to my front porch and knocked on the door twice, the signal that all of the Things were dead. I waited for Mom to knock twice back, but there was nothing. Puzzled, I knocked again, then waited. There was shuffling inside, then a thud. My heart sped up and I grew worried quickly. I spun around and jumped off the porch, running around the house, through the gate, and into the yard. I glanced at the tree as I rushed through the tall grass of the yard. All of the flower petals were gone. I then burst through the door to the shop and into the living room. No one was inside, and I turned and sprinted into Sam's room.

Sam was laying on the ground, his eyes closed, my foggy-eyed mother and a Thing crouched over him with blood spilling from their mouths.


	3. Chapter 3

Mom and the Thing rose to their feet and began to hobble towards me. A loud, high-pitched scream escaped me, and I lifted the knife to ear level, the blade facing the two monsters. The unknown Thing approached me first, and I swung the knife down, digging the point deeper and deeper into its skull. Blood trickled from the wound and it fell to the floor, making a loud thud once it hit the ground. I looked to my mother, ready to strike again with the knife.

But something held me back. It almost felt like a hand was grasping my wrist, silently begging me to stop and let her be. The silence soon evolved into a low, gurgling growl close to my ear. I spun around quickly and drove the handle end into the eye socket of the Thing that had held my wrist. Bright red poured down the Thing's face and surrounded me. The walls, the floor, the door, the furniture, and the hand that slammed down on my shoulder all turned a bright red, and I spun back around, pushing the red blade through a red skull, and watching them both fall to the red ground.

It didn't take long to realize what I had just done.

The red was drained away from the world, and my knees to buckled and tears rushed down my cheeks, forming a pool beneath me. I laid my left hand on my mother's bloodied cheek, and my right on my brother's torn-up shoulder, grief weighing me down, but happiness nearly outweighed it. While I was mourning their deaths, it was comforting knowing that they would not be monsters any longer.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally raised to my feet. I had to get out of there. I could not allow myself to mourn forever. I went into the shop and picked up a belt with two holsters on it, one for a gun, one for a knife. I collected a revolver and as much ammunition as I could find for my gun.

As soon as I walked outside, intense humidity caused my black t-shirt and my denim shorts to stick to my skin, and my bare feet were covered in wet grass. I pulled my hair into a ponytail to prevent it from sticking to me, too; then headed out to an unknown destination.

I walked through forests and along highways for hours, killing a few Things on the way. After awhile, I grew accustom to the low growls that emitted from the beings that now dominated the Earth. I was so used to them, in fact, that it startled me to hear a human voice yell, "Hey, you!"

I turned to the source of the sound and saw something I had not expected.

There was a man with an eye-patch standing in the road behind me.


	4. Chapter 4

The man with the eyepatch walked to me quickly, then stopped only a few inches from my face. He was breathing heavily and wore a mask of pure hatred. He grabbed both of my shoulders and pushed in, making it difficult for me to breathe.

"Where's Rick?"

Now he was shaking me back and forth, repeating his question over and over. My heart rate sped up and I attempted to fight back, kicking his legs and pulling at his wrists to break his stone hard grip on my shoulders.

"Answer me!" he screamed, throwing me on the concrete. My head hit the ground and immediately pain shot out and surrounded my skull. The man began to pace back and forth at my feet, rambling about that Rick person.

"... He killed my daughter! He killed everyone from Woodbury! He left me to die and yet you are hiding him from me? How could someone..."

Eyepatch stopped talking abruptly. I looked up and saw a loaded rifled pointed at my face.

I threw my body on its side and raised my arm to slow the bullet down before it reached my head. At first there was just an explosion, then my arm fell on my face, and something whizzed past my scalp. I watched Eyepatch walk quickly past me, and as soon as he left my heart rate slowed down, and unbearable pain slithered through my arm, my shoulder, and finally the rest of my body. I tried to hold in a scream, not wanting to be found again, but it was impossible.

I shouted out in agony, holding my thigh where the bullet had gone through. The holes were close to the inside of my leg, halfway between my knee and my hip; there was blood pooling from the two wounds. I had to stop the bleeding quickly.

I ripped off my t-shirt and wrapped it around my leg, just below my shorts and a couple of inches above the holes. I tied the ends of the shirt into a knot and pulled it until it was tight enough to lessen the blood flow.

Turning away from where Eyepatch traveled, I limped down the road, praying that the Things wouldn't smell me. Looking at my blood-covered leg, I knew that answers to those prayers were slim. I decided to go back home. There was food and shelter there, and once I could figure out how that damn Thing got in there and fix it, the place would be perfect.

Limping down a road took longer than just walking. I was still a mile from home and it was already pitch black outside. Luckily, my dad had left a tiny flashlight clipped on the back of the belt. I used this little flashlight to navigate home, but I had not reached my porch before a low rumbling sound reached my ears. A bright light emerged from the other side of a steep hill ahead, and a thin, shiny object rapidly approached.

All traces of intelligence escaped my brain and I turned and ran down the road, away from the motorcycle instead of jumping into the mass of trees on my right. I was running as fast as I could with my injured leg, trying to calm myself down by repeating "It's not him! It's not him!"

Unfortunately, under the T-shirt I had worn earlier I had a neon purple tank-top that did a very good job of reflecting light.

A man whom I did not recognize was riding the motorcycle. He parked the bike just ahead of me and turned to look at me. I stopped dead.

"You alright? What happened to you?"

I looked down and realized that my leg was covered in even more blood than before. Looking back up at the man, I debated in my mind if I should run or not.

"We have a doctor back at the prison with us. I can take you there and we can fix you up."

This guy seemed normal, unlike the insane man with the eyepatch. Deciding to trust him, I got on the back of the bike and we drove off to the prison he mentioned.

We drove into a field full of Things. Some of them just roaming, some pushing on the metal fences that surrounded the massive prison, and the rest coming toward us. I pulled myself closer to Daryl, frightened by the sight of the blood-covered faces in the dark. Someone at the fence opened two doors to let the bike in, then a gate once the doors were shut.

"Who's this?" The man asked. He was tall, with dark hair. I couldn't see his face clearly, but it appeared that he was Asian.

"Sydney," I mumbled.

"I'm takin' her to Hershel. The Governor shot her in the leg. Do you know where he is?"

The Asian nodded and Daryl drove the bike up to a door on the side of the building. I jumped off the bike and limped behind him as he lead me to the doctor. We walked through a few hallways, then entered a large room with shelves full of items everywhere, and a table and chairs in the middle. An old man with one leg and a pair of crutches made his way over to us.

"Are you Sydney?" asked the old man.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I'm Hershel. Come sit down and we'll fix you up."

"Oh God," I whispered, my eyes wide. I pointed where his other leg should have been. "You're the doctor?"

Hershel laughed, "I'm not going to amputate your leg."

I sat down in one of the chairs and watched Hershel put some objects on the table next to him. Daryl slapped his hand on my shoulder and said, "You'll be fine."

He then whispered to me, "is your dad still out there?"

I looked up at him, anger boiling in my blood. I hadn't told him about my dad, just Mom and Sam. He's just trying to help, I thought.

"If he is, I hope I never see that asshole again."

He looked at me, almost as if he understood. It surprised me, how he didn't lash out at me and tell me that I was a horrible daughter for hating my dad, like others had done in the past. He just looked at me like he knew exactly how I felt. Did he?

Hershel sat down and started to fix up my leg. Daryl started to walk to the door, but I stopped him.

"Were you scared of your dad too?" I asked.

Hershel stopped working and looked at me, shocked. I knew it was a personal question, but I had shared everything that had happened to me from when my dad left until now, the majority of my life. One question didn't seem that bad.

Daryl nodded, then turned and walked out the door, leaving me with Hershel, who was still staring at me.

"Why did you ask that?" He asked me.

I looked down, feeling like a little kid that just got busted for something.

"So," he said, changing the subject, "were you by yourself out there?"

"Yes, but only today."

Hershel started to work again, sewing the skin back together on my thigh.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

This morning a Thing came... or, wait. You guys call it a Walker or something. A Walker got into my house and bit my mom and my little brother. I had to kill all three of them and then I left."

Hershel stopped working and looked up at me again, this time his face covered in sympathy.

"You had to kill your mom and brother? How old are you?"

Tears began to form in my eyes, and I attempted to hold them back.

"Fourteen."

"Oh my God," he gasped. "I'm sorry."


End file.
